


Fragments the Hunt

by Anisarian



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 04:25:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5613859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anisarian/pseuds/Anisarian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sort of experiment on my part. Trying to fuck around with tone and perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Awakening

You wake, back stiff and memory foggy as you raise yourself from the wooden table. The air around you is heavy, and the scent of antiseptic sits softly beneath an overwhelming stench of blood. You rise, your mind whirling as you think on half remembered scenes playing out before you. Your left arm rubs the inner elbow of your right, where a small neat hole hurts far more then it should.

You think of a scene, half remembered, of a man in a Wheelchair, of a Wolf as large as a bear, of creatures crawling upon you, covering until they are all your senses can take in. A word, that stays with you, that makes you search the vials they fed you with, the cupboards and shelves and seats and beds. A word that drives you from the room, even as you hear the scratching and the snarling and sounds you cannot describe.

Paleblood.


	2. Iosefka

The Doctor is sweet, on you or what you represent you're not sure. Yet as you cut and burn your way through the streets, becoming covered with the blood of beasts and men, she remains optimistic about your chances. As you rip the blood from those who wander the streets, she offers hers, to help you on your way. A part of you wonders if that violates her oath as a doctor, but you suspect an atrocity such as the hunt makes many do things they would not otherwise. What is a bit of blood, to help the good hunter on their way, against a city where men and beasts tear one another apart in the street.

You are glad for her. She offers a possible light in this darkening night. You sit and waste precious time just asking her questions to hear nervous responses. It feels strange muttering soft flirtations to a woman you cannot see covered in the filth of the hunt, smelling of blood and smoke and sweat. But she returns them, just as softly, just as nervously. Speaking her hopes with a voice that implies if she asks to strongly, the chance will disappear. It seems baffling to you, that she would think so.

Her blood is the sweetest in this City.


End file.
